Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 35349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35349 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
And she was mine. There was no escaping that. Not now. Not ever.
I scrambled the eggs and added a few pieces of cheese to the pan so they’d melt. I wanted her to have more protein, so I grabbed slices of ham and, after scooping the eggs onto a plate, cooked the meat until it was caramelized. Even keeping myself busy with mundane things didn’t stop my mind from wandering about the moment she’d wake up, and how much I anticipated it.
But fuck. How would I convince her? How would I make her understand? She’d fight of course. She’d be terrified of what was going to happen to her, and no amount of me trying to convince her otherwise would ease her worries.
But that sinister part of me hoped she’d try to run. I wanted to see how far she’d get before I found her and dragged her back to my predatory lair. I knew my desires were sick. But I wasn’t ashamed of them. I embraced every single need I had.
When the ham was cooked, I toasted the bread in the oven, buttered it when it was done, and let a few slices of cheese melt on top. A simple meal for a very complicated situation.
I glanced back toward the bedroom where my Dolly lay asleep, still completely unaware of the world she’d just been thrust into.
“No going back, sweet little darling.”
Before I took the food to her, I went to the cupboard and grabbed the little black case stored there. I ran my fingers over it, a smile tugging at my lips because I knew what I was doing would be another affirmation of what she was to me… and what I was to her.
There was no going back. Not for her. Not for me.
I’d always be one step behind her. Her silent protector.
And with that in mind, I took the food and the black case into her room.
Dolly’s stalker was ready to keep her close.
11
DOLLY
My throbbing head woke me yet again, and I winced before I even opened my eyes. The ache started at the base of my neck, a discomfort that made my entire body feel heavy and sluggish, making it hard to breathe.
I slowly blinked open my eyes, everything from before I passed back out rushing in and causing my head to pound even more.
The room was dimly lit, shadows casting unfamiliar shapes against the walls and ceiling. I struggled to focus, blinking away the haze that clouded my vision from whatever sedative he’d given me and the heavy sleep it induced.
Panic surged through me as reality hit hard and deep. And the longer I tried to make sense of… anything, the more that panic rose. I sat up quickly, but a new wave of dizziness forced me to steady myself against the headboard.
I was alone. I knew that, so I took in my surroundings fully for the first time.
The bedroom was modest with minimal furnishings—a small, scarred, and aged dresser. To my left was a wide, sturdy-looking nightstand beside the bed, and there was a single window across from me. The glass looked slightly foggy with its heavily embroidered curtains mostly shut. A chair was next to the door.
Everything looked… normal, but I knew it was anything but. As my vision adjusted more fully and I took in more of the room, my gaze landed on an open bag sitting on the ground by the closed door on the left wall. I knew that bag because it was mine.
I could see my clothes inside, still neatly folded from when I last packed it. My fear rose, and I sat up further, feeling my heart race and my breathing pick up. On the nightstand lay my poetry book, neatly set out with my reading glasses on top of it. I ran my fingers over the worn cover.
I focused on the bedroom door, and the cold realization of my situation reinstated itself like a heavy anvil in my gut. This man—who kidnapped me—had also brought all of my belongings here. Which meant he had no plans to let me leave. And somehow, above everything else, I felt a sense of violation that someone had gone through my things.
Although I was still dizzy, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and gave myself only a second to breathe through the wave of nausea. I was about to stand, but when I placed my hands on the mattress and added pressure, the tug and pull of discomfort in my wrist stopped me, and I gasped.
For the first time, I noticed a small bandage wrapped around it. It felt tight but not constricting, and with shaky fingers, I unwrapped the dressing, terrified of what I would find.
And when I saw the skin beneath it, I gasped in horror at what was revealed.